


Beacon

by Wicked_Seraph



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hair Washing, M/M, Nipple Play, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 18:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19183315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: On cold winter nights, banishing the darkest corners of Ash's memories meant knowing when to humor his pensive silence and when to draw him, inch by inch, away from the leering demons that captivated him.





	Beacon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GracefulNanami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulNanami/gifts).



> This was written to fulfill a request by [GracefulNanami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulNanami/profile).

Ordinarily, Eiji loved the soothing melancholy of snowfall. The outer world, chaotic and restless, was lulled into slumber when blanketed in white. He loved the quiet things nurtured by winter’s chill: steaming cocoa and a crackling fireplace, cocoons made of fleece blankets and bodies nestled together, basking in one another’s warmth.

Eiji loved these things, but their silence highlighted Ash’s dark moods. Ash’s demons thrived in inertia, in stagnant pools and mildewed corners. Ash was constant movement; aimless percussion as his fingers strummed idly and feet tapped. Eiji didn’t have to ask to know that Ash’s phantoms recoiled from sound and motion, and that the reflexive, joyless smile Ash often gave him meant that light was being shone into those corners where devils and foul memories lurked.

Eiji had resolved to become a beacon then, to find the dark places Ash avoided and offer what little illumination he could. Ash, petulant as he pretended to be, gulped down warmth and affection greedily. It took months for him to stop looking guilty for wanting it, for relishing it; the smile on his face gradually lost its fearful edge, softening in a way that made Eiji’s heart stumble and forget how to beat.

On cold winter nights, banishing those dark corners meant knowing when to humor Ash’s pensive silence and when to draw him, inch by inch, away from the leering demons that seemed to captivate him.

Ash had, reluctantly, agreed to a shower, his recalcitrance less so from innate modesty than from not wanting to emerge from the haven of fleece blankets and trapped body heat that he’d made for himself. Eiji picked him up and carried him easily to the bathroom, ignoring Ash’s half-hearted protests ( _you really are a baby,_ he thought, a tendril of heat arcing along his spine as he imagined the words in Ash’s low timbre). Ash hesitated when it came to undressing; Eiji assumed he understood why until he noticed how unnaturally still Ash was, the contemplative way he glanced at Eiji from over his shoulder.

“Is there something you needed?” Eiji asked.

No response save for a barely perceptible shake of Ash’s head before turning towards the sink to wash his face. Eiji knew that this wasn’t refusal, but hesitation. Stalling.

Stalling was fine; stalling was Ash recognizing that his first instinct to build a wall was one he might like to fight against. Stalling meant that Ash held the bricks in his hand but wasn’t sure he wanted to lay them.

Ash expected pleading and cajoling, empty promises on why barriers weren’t necessary. He expected a foot lodged crudely in the door frame as he attempted to slam it shut, a hand attempting to pluck fire from churning waves of nausea.

Eiji knew why Ash kept his distance, why cold words belied heated, uncertain glances begging him to prove his affection wasn’t misplaced.

Ash murmured quietly under his breath, his expression obscured in the mirror’s reflection.

“I’m sorry?”

Ash cleared his throat. “Could you…”

Eiji waited, would wait however long it took for Ash to find words and courage.

Ash’s shoulders dropped, a sigh and surrender. “Could you… undress me?” he asked, eyes averted in a way that would have been almost suggestive if not for the way his lips twisted, an approximation of a smile warped by shrieking insecurity. Ash’s voice was tender in a way that rendered it almost unrecognizable, stripped of its usual layer of barbs and venom.

_“I’m covered in it, all the vile shit they did,” Ash had sobbed, shoulders heavy with memories of greedy fingers digging into his flesh, feeling it flush unwillingly and succumb to pressure. Degradation had dripped from him like invisible tar, dragging Ash’s gaze downward as he watched it pool somewhere only he could see._

" _Peel it off of me,” he’d begged. “Please tell me it’s not inked into my skin.”_

Little by little, Ash shed layers of himself, showing Eiji the cracks in the paint and imploring him to strip it bare.

“Of course,” Eiji replied, fingers feather-light as he found the hem of Ash’s shirt and removed it; he was careful to avoid touching Ash’s skin. Ash closed his eyes, shivering as the cool air peppered his skin with goosebumps.

That’s when Eiji noticed it in the mirror’s reflection: a thick white line along Ash’s abdomen. Memories raced before he could stop them.

Arthur, descending from the bridge with blood trailing behind him like crumpled angel’s wings.

Ash, hands soaked with blood and clutching a crude knife; how pale he looked, even as he tried to mold his expression into one of practiced victory. Eiji doubted anyone else noticed how Ash’s knees shook.

Ash’s eyes followed Eiji’s, lips twisting into a self-deprecating smile when he found their focus.

“Pretty pathetic, huh? Almost being done in by something like this.”

“… not many would have survived. I’m glad you did. I…”

At this Eiji bit his tongue, trying to stop the avalanche of words threatening to pour out of him.

“Rules, Eiji,” Ash chided, lacing his fingers with Eiji’s before drawing both their hands over the sole reminder of how closely Ash had danced with the Reaper, of how brazenly he’d admired its scythe. Eiji turned their hands, feeling the dip in Ash’s flesh where the scar broke the uniformity of his flesh.

“I was so scared, Ash,” he whispered, resting his chin on Ash’s shoulder. “You’re strong… but I cannot be like you. You were hurt… and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

Ash found Eiji’s other hand, twining their fingers before bringing it to his lips. Their gazes met; Ash’s lips were devoid of the usual smirk that played across them whenever they met Eiji’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

_Are you?_

Ash said nothing, leaning into the loose embrace of their clasped hands, back pressed against Eiji’s chest, millimeters from where his heart had begun to thud from the shrinking space between them.  He dared risking a glance in the mirror, hesitation at seeing himself overpowered by the unreadable expression on Ash’s face.

Expectant, as if he’d _wanted_ to be seen, even while something him railed against it.

Eiji would have felt naked had their eyes met with nothing but tension to bridge the gap; glass and silver helped absorb some of the heat coalescing between them.

“Could I do this if I wasn’t?”

It took Eiji a moment to realize what Ash was responding to; the mere moments between question and counter seemed to have stretched into years. Ash’s tone was light, even while he allowed his head to dip back towards Eiji’s neck, guiding Eiji’s hands upwards towards his chest.

“Ash, what are you…?

“Humor me,” he said, voice devoid of any.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason to want you to touch me?”

Eiji hated not knowing how to decipher the mood when Ash’s voice was honey and poison, when it was impossible to tell whether it would be kinder to carve out more well-intended boundaries or coax him past those he flirted with.

“I think I might feel better about it if you didn’t,” Eiji said instead, hoping his smile communicated what his awkward English, lacking in nuance, could not.

Ash grinned; Eiji thought of stray sunbeams piercing through swollen, cotton-like clouds.

“Maybe talking about death makes me want to feel something the dead can’t.”

Still honeyed, but sweeter, closer to cinnamon than licorice. Eiji’s nerves flickered with awareness. "I wouldn’t know. Won’t you tell me?”

Thin fingers guided Eiji’s towards one of the rosy peaks on his chest. Eiji’s breath hitched.

“You’ve never touched them before, have you?” Ash asked, tracing a path around his own nipple; Eiji swallowed, hands shaking as he tried to avoid touching it. “Not even your own, I take it.”

“Ash, please don’t tease me.” Eiji's blood quickened, his breaths suddenly thin. Beneath the warmth of Ash's skin, he felt a pulse just as rapid and unsteady as his own.

"Had no intention to. I know what mine feel like. Probably feels different when it's not me touching them, though."

Eiji said nothing; lust and fear had mutated into invisible cloth stuffed down his throat, making his mouth dry and tongue clumsy. Ash was hot and pliant beneath his fingertips, yet he couldn't help but wonder how deeply he might accidentally pry open one of the unseen wounds scattered across his body.

How easily would the stitching come undone?

"If it were someone else… I bet it'd feel real nice," Ash continue, voice like syrup as Eiji's thumb grazed a nipple. An instinctive flare of heat coiled in Eiji's stomach.

There was nothing but pleasure in Ash's expression, pure and honest. Emboldened, Ash's hands closed around Eiji's, coaxing them to stroke and pinch the hardening nub. Eiji kept his hands loose, trying to ignore the way his pants had begun to feel uncomfortably tight as he allowed Ash to experiment with pressure and speed, as Ash bit his lip and writhed within his arms. He avoided meeting his own reflection’s critical gaze — an easy task considering how beautiful Ash looked like this: unguarded, almost rapturous, lips parted in a soundless moan.

"W… would you like me to do it?" Eiji suggested. "Might feel better if you're not the one doing it. Less predictable."

"Predictable is good right now," Ash said, flashing a brief smile tinged with apology. "You're doing more than enough. Let yourself enjoy it, too."

Ash leaned back, rubbing his rear against Eiji's groin deliberately; if Eiji had any doubts as to whether Ash knew the effect this was having on him, they were immediately dispelled.

Eiji let his lids fall shut, basking in dulled friction and heat and his name like a prayer on Ash’s tongue. Imagination paled in comparison to feeling Ash’s body against his; he could almost taste the salt and sweat. His filthiest dreams couldn’t have perfected the way his erection slotted easily between Ash’s legs. Ash squeezed them together with a smirk, stroking with his thighs in a way that made Eiji’s breath stutter.

“Getting a little worked up?” Ash’s voice was a low purr against his ear, more sensation than sound.

“You’re one to talk,” Eiji said, risking the briefest of nips to Ash’s neck. Ash trembled, biting his lip as he tried and failed not to lean into the touch. “See?

“Oh God, Eiji —“

“Use your words,” Eiji muttered, bringing his lips close to Ash’s neck once more, close enough that Ash could feel his breath and the barest hint of a bite. There were unspoken rules in their shared space, rules that allowed light and warmth to flow between them; Ash knew this as well as Eiji.

“Do _you_ want me to?” Eiji asked, coating his words with as much sugar as he could in spite of their bluntness, in spite of how desperately he wanted to feel Ash’s flesh give and bruise beneath his teeth.

Ash was silent, rocking against Eiji’s arousal and whimpering in a way that beckoned wordlessly to something roaring just beneath his skin. Eiji’s head swam, unable to focus on anything other than Ash — nestled against his cock, hard and quivering beneath his fingertips, close enough to taste, to bite, to feel.

He was perfect.

_Too perfect_ , Eiji realized with a start. Ash’s eager noises were… practiced. Reflexive.

Forced.

_Ash didn’t say “yes”._

“… shower,” Eiji murmured.

“Huh?”

“You wanted to shower, right?”

Ash’s hips stilled.

“… y-yeah. Yeah, sorry. Kinda… lost myself there.” Ash eyes clouded over, brows furrowed.

“Don’t even think of apologizing,” Eiji said gently. He lowered his hands, fingers laced, grasping at something dense and nameless between them. “I want — well. I don’t want… what you aren’t ready to give. To take. I think a shower might help… clear our heads.”

“Only if you join me.” Ash’s tone was light with the aftertaste of humor, but the corners of his lips seemed to drag, not quite able to fully form a smile. “I’ll even let you get it started.”

“How kind of you,” Eiji said, untangling their limbs and fingers and hating how quickly the warmth between them dissipated. The short distance between Ash and the shower was a gaping chasm.

Eiji reached into the shower, fussing with the handles until water streamed from the faucet, warm but not scalding. Another tell: Ash liked showers that ran hot — much too hot for Eiji’s liking — and only ever encouraged Eiji to determine the temperature if he genuinely wanted him to join.

Ash slipped behind the curtain, the rustle of clothing filling the strange, heavy silence between them. He poked his hand from behind the curtain, clothes in hand; Eiji took them obligingly, leaning against the sink. He crossed his arms, hoping that the nervous tempo of his fingertips rapping against the counter was audible only to him.

“Just let me know when you want me to come in.”

Minutes passed.

Eiji didn’t need to see behind the curtain to know what was happening; he could hear the sponge as Ash worked the soap into a rich lather and scrubbed himself, audible even over the steady patter of the shower. He could hear as Ash washed himself, obsessively cleaning, rinsing, and cleaning once more, skin reddened and raw. The demons had apparently gotten much closer to Ash than he’d thought, coating him in their grime and putrescence.

Eiji wondered what the mixture of self-revulsion and apology on Ash’s lips would taste like if he’d kissed them, imagining chlorine or lust sticking to his teeth.

He removed his clothes, folding and laying them neatly on the vanity before picking up Ash’s discarded clothes to fold. They were still warm, still smelled like Ash, and it took every ounce of Eiji’s concentration to ignore the low ripple of heat in his stomach.

“Should probably hop in before the water gets cold.”

“R-Right!”

Eiji slid behind the curtain, grabbing a shampoo bottle and squeezing a veritable mountain of it into his palm.

Ash wrinkled his nose. “You don’t have nearly enough hair for that much.”

“No, but you do.”

“What, you gonna wash my hair?”

Eiji scowled, looking intently at a swirl amidst the uniform white of the shampoo. “Actually… yes, if you would like me to. It always feels nice when you do it for me.”

The mocking sneer on Ash’s face drooped into a grimace. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry, I— that was —”

“It’s okay, Ash. Just yes or no. There’s no right or wrong answer — you won’t hurt my feelings.”

“No, that’s not…” Ash sighed, running a hand through his hair and wincing as his fingers found a knot. “Yes. I’d… I’d like that, actually. Probably does feel nice.”

“It does!” Eiji said, beaming. “Very relaxing. You will like very much!”

Ash turned around dutifully, dipping his head beneath the faucet, the platinum of his hair shifting to a rich gold, reminiscent of swaying fields of rye. Eiji brought his fingers to Ash’s scalp, spreading and working the shampoo into a thick lather. He found the knot that Ash had earlier, clicking his tongue before working to separate the tangled strands.

“Thought this was supposed to feel good. That fucking hurts, the way you’re tugging at it,” Ash drawled.

“Maybe this will teach you to take better care of your hair.”

“My bad, princess. I’ll make sure to keep it nice for you next time.”

“’Next time’?”

Ash cleared his throat. “I mean — I —“

“I’m happy to hear it, Ash,” Eiji said, voice easily swallowed by the water. The knot had been untangled, and Eiji marveled at how silky the blond locks felt between his fingers, at how the tension in Ash’s back and shoulders seemed to melt.

“Feels good. Really good.”

“Told you so.” Eiji risked running his fingers gently against his scalp, with just enough pressure to trigger a saltating frisson. He remembered the confused, anguished kind of thrill it gave him when Ash did the same to him, wondering if it was normal for the pleasure to arc along his nerves.

Ash trembled, a low purr in the back of his throat. “Like… it’s abnormally good,” he murmured.

“Hmm.” Eiji hummed, content to take in the way Ash seemed to arch into his touch, the way his lips were parted in a quiet sigh.

“Does it feel like this for you?”

“Like what?”

“Incredible. Relaxed… ”

Ash looked over his shoulder, eyes hungry in a way that made Eiji’s breath catch. “…but not quite.”

“I… yes. It feels that way for me. Like… like melting,” Eiji stammered, unable to stop the vivid pink he knew had begun to appear on his cheeks. He ran his fingers along the curve of Ash’s skull, the dip in his neck, working at muscle and flesh until a low, breathy groan shattered his concentration.

“I’m sorry, Eiji.” His voice was reedy and breathless, cheeks colored faintly with shame.

“Don’t be. Do you want me to keep going?”

Ash turned to face him, swallowing as his gaze flickered between Eiji’s eyes and lips. He brought one arm to rest gingerly on Eiji’s shoulder, the other cradling his face as if shielding something fragile. Ash’s whole body thrummed with turbulence; Eiji felt a delicious thread of violence in the way Ash’s hands shook. Jade eyes seemed intent to devour him, and Eiji wanted nothing more than to bare his neck.

“Can I?” Ash ran the pad of his thumb along Eiji’s lips, transfixed.

“Of course. Anything,” Eiji closed his lips around the digit, letting his tongue flick against it and memorize the acrid tang of salt and gunpowder.

His name was softer than a prayer on Ash’s lips before he found himself being claimed by them. Eiji’s heart raced as he willed himself to process the flood of sensation: Ash’s lips against his, desperate and hungry, fingers trailing along the back of his neck and carding through his hair, tongue exploring the seam of his lips. He felt himself being guided against the wall, the cool tiles against his back in stark contrast to Ash’s heat threatening to consume him.

Ash had never kissed him like this before. Ash was always cautious, lips and hands never lingering long enough for the kindling between them to ignite.

_This_ was overwhelming. Ash was _everywhere_ ; he could smell Ash, taste Ash; he could hear their heartbeats melding together into a single frantic rhythm. He couldn’t tell if the suggestive pressure against his thigh was himself or Ash, only that it felt like a brand against his skin. Ash’s mouth was ravenous against his; Eiji parted his lips, letting Ash’s tongue dip in to taste him. A calloused finger lingered curiously around his nipple.

“Can I?”

Eiji nodded furiously. He held his breath, lids fluttering shut as he waited for… something. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

Then he felt it: a barely noticeable tingle. It was less sensation that implication, but the knowledge of it sent a thrill along his spine. A warm breath, followed by a pinpoint of coolness as Ash pulled away. Before he could stop himself, Eiji found himself wrapping an arm behind Ash’s shoulders, fingers tightening in his hair.

“So greedy,” Ash murmured, circling the outline of his nipple with his tongue before sucking at it. Eiji’s knees buckled, just barely bracing himself against the wall. He could feel each swipe of Ash’s tongue, the faintest hint of teeth. Merciless suction and pressure interspersed with  brief spikes of pleasure.

Now _this_ was different.

Time slowed to a crawl, the world around them reduced to a murky drone; all he could focus on was the ferocity in Ash’s expression and the way each flick of Ash’s tongue against his nipple sent wave after wave of desire through his body. Ash seemed to delight in the sting of his hair behind pulled; Eiji’s fingers curled, pressing Ash closer to his oversensitive chest, and Ash’s mouth sucked at him more eagerly. Ash’s body lay against his, both undulating in crude imitation that made Eiji painfully aware of throbbing, demanding heat between his thighs.

He knew unequivocally that the rigid heat against his stomach was not his own arousal; he wrapped his fingers around it, savoring the contradiction of something so firm feeling soft, strangely foreign solely for not being his own flesh. He ran his hand up the length, slow enough to sear its shape and density into his memory.

_This… this is_ **_Ash_ ** _in my hands,_ he thought dizzily, his mouth going dry at the sight of moisture glistening on the tip. He swallowed the urge to lick it, content to imagine the musky bitterness. To touch was enough, more than he could have dreamed. Ash’s entire body was taut like a bow’s string, waiting for the inevitable release.

He obliged, shuddering as Ash moaned wantonly, jerking into Eiji’s grasp. Another tentative stroke; another lush, throaty moan. He drank in Ash’s pleasure, relishing the way his voice caught when Eiji dragged a fingernail along the shaft or wrapped the tips of his fingers around the head. Ash thrust impatiently into Eiji’s hand, seeming to forget everything but the slick friction and heat.

“Can… can I try something?” Eiji panted, loosening his grip; Ash’s eyes widened, but he nodded eagerly.

Eiji bit his lip, bringing their hips together until he felt Ash’s lust, white-hot and undeniable, against his own. Ash swore under his breath, burying his face against the side of Eiji’s neck as he wrapped a hand around them both.

“Holy shit,” Ash breathed, rocking his hips into Eiji’s grasp. Eiji felt something hot and deliciously painful against his neck. Ash’s breaths were frantic, teeth sharp against Eiji’s throat. Eiji rolled his hips, feeling both of them glide against one another over and over, their pleasure mirrored.

Warning bells resounded in his head, even while his blood felt like lightning crackling in his veins; he braced against a familiar lurching sensation just behind his belly button, a building inevitability.

“Ash — I’m gonna—”

Ash’s hips slowed, but did not still. Ash leveled Eiji with an expression that was difficult to read; Eiji thought of hurricanes raging behind shutters and steel bars.

“I… we can stop, if you want. We don’t have to take this any further,” he said, voice raspy and heavy in a way that suggested that he wanted to.

Eiji blinked, struggling to find a coherent thought past the haze of lust and sensation. “Wh-what makes you think I want to stop?”

Ash sighed, jerking forward minutely, his eyelids fluttering shut at the burst of friction. “I don’t. I wanna… keep going. I don’t have the right to ask that.”

Eiji clicked his tongue, bringing his lips to Ash’s, kissing him slow and deep, relishing the confused whimper against his mouth.

“I said anything, Ash. I meant it. _Anything,”_ he repeated, rutting against Ash pointedly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I don’t?” Eiji’s voice was dangerously soft. “You don’t think I know” — a quick thrust, the faintest graze of teeth against Ash’s ear — “ _exactly_ what I’m asking for?”

Ash’s eyes were wide, a vivid jade deep enough to drown in. “Is that what you want?”

“Anything.”

“In that case, I’m going to need you to trust me… and to tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Of course.”

There was a faint note of worry in Ash’s tone, but his eyes still glimmered with clear want. “God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, bringing two fingers against Eiji’s lips, parting them. Eiji drew them into his mouth, lapping around them and gauging Ash’s reaction.

A stuttering breath; an approving hum as he worked them deeper. Eiji felt a bubble of pride for having guessed correctly.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the foreign sensation of fingers and knuckles against his tongue, the way his cock stirred at having some part of Ash, finally, inside of him. He reveled in such simplicity: lick, and Ash melted against him with a soft purr; suck, and Ash’s cock twitched eagerly in his grasp. All the while, Ash’s hands kneaded and spread his buttocks eagerly, fingers stroking within the cleft; Eiji’s heart sputtered each time one of them dipped further, circling near his entrance. He wasn’t naive enough to not know why Ash had suggested this, and dutifully layered Ash’s fingers with saliva; when Ash withdrew them, they dripped lewdly, earning a pleased grin feral in its implied praise.

“Next bit might hurt. I’ll… try to make sure it doesn’t,” Ash murmured, bringing spit-slick fingers between Eiji’s legs.

Desire had wrapped its tendrils around his neck, each breath like water dragged into his lungs; he could do little more than nod his assent. He rocked against Ash, seeking the familiarity of their twin heartbeats, the lust sitting just as heavy and insistent between Ash’s thighs.

He felt wetness tingle against his entrance, fingers stroking the sensitive flesh and earning a moan wretched enough to stain his cheeks crimson. Faint circling became definitive pressure; Eiji shivered as he felt a digit enter him, agonizingly slow. A dark, lurking thing within him begged for more; he could hear it in the sudden, inexplicable feeling of emptiness, in the way he found himself unconsciously canting his hips. Ash’s gaze was nearly tangible; Eiji knew he was looking for any signs of discomfort or pain.

“Feels… weird. But good,” Eiji said quietly, unable to stifle huskiness that had seeped into his voice. “M-More?”

One digit became two became three, the dense burn quickly giving way to a voluptuous kind of weightlessness. His consciousness began to fray around the edges, shame and doubt succumbing to the luxury of an unerring focal point: Ash’s fingers working in and out of him with a practiced tempo, pumping and spreading until he moaned around the pleasure of it, tasting vowels as they spilled from his lips. One of Ash’s fingers stroked upwards; Eiji yelped, almost coming undone on the spot.

“Found it,” Ash purred. He teased the same region, using two fingers to stroke carefully, the pleasure less like a lightning strike than rolling thunder no less destructive against Eiji’s withering self-control. Desperation simmered just beneath the surface of his skin, screaming wordlessly for something — anything.

“Ash — please —“

Ash shifted, lifting one of Eiji’s legs and aligning himself with Eiji’s entrance; Eiji felt blunt heat nudge against him, followed by molten pleasure that stole his breath. Eiji couldn’t tell if the low, guttural sound that followed was him or Ash, couldn’t bring himself to care; the only thing in the world that mattered was the delicious ache of Ash filling him.

Eiji’s name was little more than a broken moan, vibration and teeth against his neck as Ash closed the gap between them; every inch was exquisite and agonizing and so fucking _perfect._

“Holy shit,” Ash gasped, almost reverent as he withdrew. “You feel incredible.”

Tension seemed to vibrate throughout Ash’s body, straining against impulse; the minute, instinctive jerk of his hips betrayed attempts at restraint. Using his leg as leverage, Eiji lowered himself back onto Ash, watching as his face shifted through a kaleidoscope of emotions: helplessness, pleasure, until settling onto a wicked expression that beckoned to the leering greed in his viscera.

Everything was Ash, slick tongue and sweat and feverish lust thrusting into him mercilessly. He could feel Ash’s desire burned into his skin, body eagerly welcoming him in the wanton spread of his legs. A precarious density had settled in his groin; he could hear it in the way his breaths had devolved into needy pants and the throaty mewling that his voice had become.

“A-Ash…” he pleaded, fingers and limbs tingling in warning. Ebb-and-flow became a violent crescendo as Ash shifted the angle of his hips; each thrust made stars erupt behind his eyelids. He was so full, so goddamn full; every inch begged for another, head and shaft stroking inside him, and he wanted more, more, it wasn’t _enough_ —

“Eiji, I — I’m gonna —!”

Ash’s voice cut off with a sharp cry; his nails etched crescents into Eiji’s back as he struggled to keep tempo, to reign in the primal need to claim, to spill.

“Do it,” Eiji whispered; flood waters, viscous and sweet, crept up his spine, trickling into his lungs. “I’m so close, h-harder, f-fuck me _harder_ , Ash—”

Composure crumbled into unabashed pleas, Eiji rocking himself desperately against Ash; he couldn’t bring himself to feel shame, not when his body — their bodies — screamed for the same release. Even while a prim voice in his head railed against the expletive, he knew Ash would understand, would want honesty and vulnerability; he risked a look at Ash’s face and knew immediately that he made the right choice.

Even in the throes of pleasure, Ash watched him, searching — for pleasure? for reassurance? Eiji’s cheeks burned, struck by the sudden intimacy of their faces separated only the fragile seconds between a kiss, of only then realizing that there were freckles like secret constellations on the bridge of Ash’s nose.

He tried not to dwell on wondering if anyone else had noticed. If anyone else had ever tried.

Something saccharine settled in his stomach, acute yet warm like mead. He pressed his mouth against Ash’s, swallowing their mingled sighs and moans as the crashing tide consumed them both.

Heat surged inside him, outside of him. His lust and Ash’s lust trickled along the planes and valleys of their bodies just long enough for the forgotten stream of the shower to wash them away.

Even as Ash slowly, reluctantly pulled out of him, struggling to find the appropriate words to fill the silence, Eiji swore he could still feel Ash’s warmth melting into him.

“Is it always like this?” Eiji asked.

“Like what?” Ash asked cautiously.

“Warm… so very warm. Like I can still feel you inside of me.”

“That’s pretty lewd, Eiji,” Ash said with a grin, artfully dodging the resulting smack. “Though… no. Not always. Actually, most of the time it’s pretty fucking disgusting afterwards.”

“Ah,” Eiji said uncertainly, the sweetness buzzing through him souring.

“Whether or not it’s gross depends on the person you’re with.” Ash’s fingers were soft against the curve of his jaw, capturing an errant strand of hair to tuck behind his ear. “And _nothing_ about you is disgusting. With you… I think it would always be like this.”

Ash looked like he wanted to bite back the words as soon as he said them, too thick with things better left unspoken.

Eiji knew that the demons would still linger. Clouds would reconvene. Sometimes Ash would be fettered by memory and faceless strangers; Eiji knew that the warm things he nurtured within him could not chase devils dripping with pitch and venom. All he could offer was sanctuary, substituting affection for the vileness Ash had come to expect.

For now, it was a mouthful of regret exchanged for a kiss: pressure too brief to be contested, but long enough to disperse the gloom that shrouded him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed and encouraged. You can find me on twitter ([@wicked_seraph](https://twitter.com/wicked_seraph)) screaming about Banana Fish.


End file.
